


Designated Drinker

by Imagine036



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drunk!Felicity, F/M, One Year Later, Romance, Some angst, mostly fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagine036/pseuds/Imagine036
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Felicity becomes Team Arrow's "Designated Drinker" (and the one time Oliver becomes HERS)</p>
<p>“It’s like… a designated driver, but instead of planning for sobriety… Every time you feel like taking a drink, pour one out and I’ll drink it. That way, you stay sober.”</p>
<p>Starts out with a slightly heavier one, but mostly just intended for some fun with later characters. The idea is that each chapter will start out with Felicity drinking for a different character, and then drunk Felicity will end up with Oliver so that we get Olicity endings. The last chapter (whenever I get there) will feature Oliver as Felicity's Designated Drinker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laurel

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I have been toying with this idea for a couple of weeks now. Ever since I wrote the last installment of Losing Sleep. The idea of Felicity becoming the “designated drinker” for the team stems from her taking the shot Laurel was staring at in that story. So these will be from Oliver’s perspective, more his reactions to Felicity being drunk at various times for various team members. They may be loosely connected (I haven't decided exactly how much I really want to connect them), but the main goal here is just some silly, harmless fun. This first one will be a bit on the heavier side, but the others will be more fun, I promise!  
> This first one takes place a year after “Sara”. Laurel is not a full-time member of Team Arrow and did not become Black Canary. She remained a lawyer and told her father about Sara’s death.
> 
> Disclaimer: Arrow is not mine. Sadly.

Oliver can hear the giggling the instant he cracks the door open and frowns. It’s not a sound he’s accustomed to hearing in the basement. There’s the occasional bout of laughter, but it typically doesn’t last long. They don’t have much to inspire amusement down here. Curious, he puts one foot in front of the other to investigate.

 

When he reaches the bottom, the sight that greets him is even stranger than the laughter was in the first place. Laurel is perched on the med table, her back to him and her legs swinging aimlessly where they dangle about a foot from the floor. Her heels are discarded at the edge of the table along with her blazer, leaving her more casually dressed in a black, fitted tank top and a beige skirt. She’s focused on the computers in front of her, or more specifically, the blonde woman currently spinning in the chair in front of them.

 

There’s a brilliant smile on Felicity’s face that he never sees enough. It’s contagious and he finds himself breaking out into a grin at her obvious joy. She’s wearing a red and black patterned dress, the red fabric taking the shape of flowers creeping slowly out over the black fabric. It’s probably a good thing she’s moving so quickly or Oliver is sure he’d be unable to tear his eyes from her.

 

“And you said I couldn’t do it,” Felicity scoffs, her eyes focused on Laurel for as long as the chair’s movement will allow.

 

Laurel sounds amused as she replies, “I did.”

 

“And yet here we are, one high school yearbook photo of one Quentin Lance, complete with embarrassing mullet and an awful attempt at facial hair,” Felicity says, grinning widely and indicating the screen.

 

Oliver can’t help it. He snorts. Lance always safe-guarded pictures of himself in high school. Laurel and Sara were forever trying to find a stray one that was missed in the purge, but they never succeeded. Unbidden, he wonders what Sara would say if she could see the photo. The thought takes him off guard and he feels the pit in his stomach grow. There are so many things she won’t get to see. It’s hard to believe it was a year ago today that she was ripped from them so unceremoniously.

 

“Oliver!” Felicity’s voice calling his name startles him from his thoughts. It’s louder than usual, her voice, and he frowns in confusion.

 

Laurel jumps, twisting her upper body to face him. The amusement in her eyes is muted by grief, as it so often is these days.

 

“What exactly is, uh, going on here?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Laurel didn’t think I could find a picture of Lance in high school,” Felicity explains, her voice higher and faster than usual. Her words are almost… slurring? “But I did! Because I’m _awesome_.”

 

At the end, her voice dims to a sigh, the chair continuing to spin in circles. Oliver watches her, trying to puzzle out why she seems so… carefree. Even a happy Felicity is never so…

 

“Felicity, are you drunk?” He asks, suddenly piecing it together.

 

She stops the chair’s spinning immediately, her bare feet slapping against the ground. “No…”

 

He sighs, turning his gaze to Laurel for an explanation.

 

The brunette shrugs, looking sheepish. “I tried to pace her, but…”

 

“I told her that she couldn’t lie to preserve my sobriety,” Felicity cuts her off with a giggle.

 

Now he’s even more confused.

 

Laurel sighs, clearly not wanting to get into it but not seeing another option. She slides off the table and takes a few steps in his direction. Felicity lets her head fall back against the chair and resumes spinning carelessly.

 

“She, um… She saw me at the bar when she came in,” Laurel tells him, running a hand through her hair and avoiding his eyes. “I was… not in a good place. We started talking…”

 

_“Oliver isn’t coming in today,” Felicity tells her, leaning against the bar. “Said he… needed some space. In case you were waiting for him.”_

_Laurel shakes her head, finger tracing the rim of the glass idly as she stares at the amber liquid. “No, I’m not looking for anyone.”_

_Felicity hesitates, unsure, and then cautiously slides onto the stool beside the brunette. “Sara told me that you were working really hard at keeping your sobriety, you know, before…”_

_Laurel continues to stare at the glass._

_“What is that? Scotch?” Felicity tries again, a slight tremor in her voice. “I was never one for hard liquor. I tried it once.” She shudders. “I prefer wine.”_

_“It’s whiskey,” Laurel answers, her voice far away, eyes never straying from the liquid. “Sara’s favourite.”_

“She, uh, she came up with this… insane plan,” Laurel sighs, half-laughing at the recollection. “She told me she would be my, uh…”

 

“Designated drinker!” Felicity chimes in helpfully, stopping the chair once more. She sways, swallowing more thickly than normal. “Ugh. Maybe all the spinning was a bad idea…”

 

Oliver advances a couple of steps toward her, concerned. “Are you alright?”

 

Closing her eyes for a second, Felicity nods. “I’m good. Continue your… whatever,” she tells him, gesturing wildly with her hands before collapsing back into the chair once more. Oliver takes a second to watch her eyes wander around the foundry and wonders what she’s thinking about, if she’s even thinking of anything.

 

Belatedly, he turns back to Laurel. “Designated drinker?”

 

She sighs, but the amusement is breaking through again.

 

_“It’s like… a designated driver, but instead of planning for sobriety…” Felicity stops, frowning as she pieces a better definition together. “Every time you feel like taking a drink, pour one out and I’ll drink it. That way, you stay sober.”_

_Laurel finally looks up from the whiskey. “How does that help?”_

_Felicity shrugs. “Let’s find out.”_

_And without further comment, she reaches across, plucks the glass from Laurel’s fingers, and downs the alcohol in one go. Shuddering, the blonde screws her eyes shut for a split second and then slides the glass back to Laurel, indicating she’s ready for the next one._

Oliver blinks, opens his mouth to say something, closes it and blinks again. Eventually, he’s able to form a coherent response. “What?”

 

Laurel nods, pressing her lips together. “I know. I thought she was insane at first, but… I don’t know. At some point we started talking about Sara. I told her stories from when we were little and she’d tell people she wanted to be just like me when she grew up… and then when we weren’t so little and couldn’t stop fighting… somewhere in all of it I stopped wanting to drink. It didn’t hurt to remember anymore. It was… good.” A small smile quirks at the corners of her lips and Oliver can’t help but answer with one of his own. Shaking herself from the moment of nostalgia, Laurel continues. “I told her about the two of us searching for a picture of Dad and she told me she could find one on the internet. I thought she was too drunk, but…”

 

“She was wrong!” Felicity interrupts happily. Oliver figures she must have _some_ semblance of her wits about her. Clearly, she can hear their conversation but either doesn’t want to interrupt it or can’t be bothered to join in on a more dedicated basis. “Because I am _never_ too drunk for hacking!”

 

Oliver smiles more widely in Felicity’s direction, unable to hide his amusement. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen her drunk before. Tipsy, sure, but the way her attention is slipping in and out of focus is new territory for him. It’s almost like her oxycodone high the night she was recovering from the bullet wound the Clock King gave her. The one she took for Sara… His smile dims a bit.

 

“I tried to pace her, Ollie, but she said that was cheating.”

 

“Of course she did,” he sighs, exasperated at his blonde partner’s stubborn streak. “You can take off, if you want. I can get her home.”

 

“You sure? It _is_ my fault she’s this drunk, after all.”

 

“She wouldn’t have kept going if she didn’t want to. Felicity knows her limits. Don’t worry about it.”

 

The other woman nods, as though trying to convince herself of that before heading over to collect her heels and jacket. “Felicity, Oliver’s going to take you home, alright?” Felicity nods and Laurel steps closer, her lips curving into another smile. This one is genuine, probably the fullest, happiest smile he’s seen from Laurel in a year. “Thank you… for tonight. It means a lot, and it really did help.”

 

Felicity’s answering smile is soft and only slightly coloured by the alcohol. “Anytime you need a designated drinker…” She uses her thumbs to point to herself. “I’m your girl.”

 

“I’ll remember that.”

 

“As long as you’re my designated driver!” She calls out as Laurel starts toward the foundry stairs.

 

“I think I can handle that!”

 

Once Laurel is gone, Oliver takes a moment to watch Felicity. She’s lost in her own world again, using her foot’s grip on the base of the chair to turn it side to side.

 

“Ok, you ready to get out of here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

 

She blinks, startled, but nods. If Oliver expects her to stumble when she rises to her feet, he’s disappointed. Truthfully, he isn’t sure _what_ to expect from her at this point. She kind of surpassed any expectations he might have had when she sat down on that bar stool next to Laurel. The two barely know each other, and yet Felicity spends the better part of her night trying to help the other woman keep her sobriety. Oliver feels his love for the woman in front of him swell dangerously. She truly is… remarkable.

 

When they get to the stairs, Felicity pauses, eyeing them warily. “These look a lot steeper than they did when we went down them…”

 

He huffs out a laugh before scooping her into his arms and starting the ascent. It’s such a natural thing to do that it takes him halfway up the steps to remind himself that it’s _not_ natural and he _shouldn’t_ do it.

 

“Give a girl some warning before you sweep her off her feet next time,” Felicity grumbles.

 

It’s on the tip of his tongue, that flirty line he wants to shoot back. But he can’t. Instead he bites he tongue and settles on a smile as she lets her head loll into the crook of his neck. Her breath is hot on his skin and he struggles to keep his heart from racing at the closeness he’s been denying them for a year now. When he reaches across to buckle her in to the passenger seat of her car, their faces come so close that he almost abandons every one of his very valid reasons for pushing her away after Sara’s death. But he can’t. Instead, he bites his tongue once more and gently closes the door behind her.

 

She spends most of the trip to her townhouse with her forehead resting against the window, not saying a word. She’s lost a lot of the gleeful aura she was giving off in the foundry and it’s making him a bit nervous. They’re almost at her block when she speaks, so quietly he almost misses it.

 

“I hate you, you know that?” The words are soft, lacking any sort of heat, but she says them so matter-of-factly that his heart stops beating for a second and his stomach drops. He can’t tell if this is the alcohol talking, or something else.

 

“Oh, really?” He probes, keeping his tone carefully light.

 

She nods, her head leaning back against the headrest as she turns to look at him. Her eyes are wide, honest. “You’ve ruined me, Oliver. For other men. I had to break up with Ray because of you.”

 

His stomach drops for an entirely different reason. This is the last thing he wants for her. It’s why he let her go. Or tried to. “You broke up with Ray because of me?”

 

She nods in an exaggerated fashion, sighing noisily. “I didn’t… I _couldn’t_ love him the way I love you. So I had to end it. Because he deserves better.”

 

Oliver’s pretty sure she just broke his heart with that sentence. The idea that anyone would deserve better than Felicity Smoak is one that he rejects automatically. There _is_ no one better. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell her so, but he reminds himself just in time that she’s only saying this because the whiskey loosened her tongue. He knows she wouldn’t be saying any of it if she were sober. They’ve carefully avoided talking about anything related to their personal relationship, or lack thereof, ever since he pushed her away. She tried to date, Ray being the most prominent example, but clearly she’s reached the end of her rope.

 

He lets the silence linger between them, exhaling in gratitude when he spots her townhouse up ahead. He pulls her car into the slot but doesn’t make it around to the passenger side before she’s clambering out of the vehicle. When he reaches out a hand to steady her, though, she allows the contact and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

 

After a few minutes spent fumbling to fit her key into the lock, he manages to get her to her room, changed into pyjamas, and in bed. The effects of the alcohol seem to be subsiding, her gaze clearer than it has been all night when she looks up at his face hovering above her from where he sits beside her on the bed. Before he can process what she’s doing, her right arm is reaching up, fingers ghosting over his face, thumb smoothing the lines of his forehead. His eyes drift closed at the soothing motions, allowing himself to enjoy it just this once.

 

“I wish you weren’t so sad all the time,” she sighs. “You deserve a happy story.”

 

He resists the urge to tell her that _she’s_ his happy story. Besides, he knows that her response would be something along the lines of ‘it doesn’t count because we don’t have a happy ending’ or, more accurately, he won’t _let_ them have a happy ending. Instead, as is his custom tonight, he holds his tongue and settles for reaching up and capturing her hand in his. Her eyes widen when he brings it gently to his lips and lays it back on the bed beside her.

 

“Go to sleep, Felicity,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead without meaning to.

 

She exhales loudly before closing her eyes and twisting to get comfortable. Right before she drifts off, he catches her last mumbled words. “I miss Sara.”

 

His eyes shut against the pang in his heart at hearing her small voice admitting what they’re all thinking today. He spent the entire day avoiding the foundry for as long as he could until he realized it was the only place left he hadn’t looked for Felicity. Even though he knew it was wrong, a part of him yearned to at least see her today, to remind himself that there are still people he loves in his life. And when he did find her, it was to learn that she’d spent the better portion of her night setting aside her own grief to help Laurel with hers. He shouldn’t find himself so astounded by this woman after this many years, but here he sits, staring down at her sleeping face completely in awe.  

 

“Me too,” he whispers, knowing she can’t hear him but needing to say the words. As he leans down to brush a soft kiss across her temple, he’s sure he hears her sigh contentedly in her sleep. It takes everything in him to walk away.


	2. Captain Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the feedback! There were some great suggestions here and over on FF.net, some of which confirmed what I was thinking of doing, some of which gave me some interesting ideas to incorporate. So I’m going to be super lazy and blanket credit everyone who contributed ideas to this moving forward. I had similar ideas from multiple people, and some from guests, so it’s easier for me to make sure I don’t inadvertently miss anyone by just saying right now that I am definitely taking those contributions into consideration and will definitely run with them.   
> This one isn’t my favourite of the plans I have, and she’s only tipsy in this one, but I needed a slightly filler-ish chapter to put between this one and the next to space it out a bit. Anyways, hopefully it’s still fun!

He’s just growing anxious enough to call her when the headlights appear at the end of her block. Oliver rises from the steps, his thumb hovering above her contact photo as he waits for confirmation that the car does indeed contain Felicity before he fully aborts the attempt to locate her. He’s been sitting on her front porch for a little over twenty minutes, which he realizes is not normally enough time to cause full-scale panic, but she’d told him that Lance only needed her help at the scene for a few minutes. She should have been safely tucked away behind her door before he even thought to knock on it.

 

The idea of _why_ he would even be knocking on her door this late is one he refuses to consider. They won tonight, a huge win, and yet he still found himself missing something. But that isn’t the reason he’s here. No. Of course it isn’t. Because that would mean he’s here for reasons he gave up the right to over a year ago. He pushed her away because it’s best for her, and it isn’t fair of him to trap her in some game of push and pull whenever his resolve wavers.

 

So, he tells himself that he’s here because he wants to make sure she got home safely. The mission tonight required her proximity to the scene, and she’d insisted on taking her own car. Unfortunately, her argument that parking a huge black van that close to a nightclub was, quote, “an uber-creepy-stalker move” was painfully valid, so he had no choice but to acquiesce. And when Lance wanted her to pop inside to work her magic on the club’s server to speed things along? Well, she rightfully reminded Oliver that it was her life, her choice, and stalked across the street even as he ground his teeth together and resisted hitting the nearest stationary object.

 

He shouldn’t have left her there, but he trusts Lance and the club _was_ emptying. What could have gone wrong?

 

Apparently, something, judging by how long it’s taking for her to return home.

 

His fingers rub together anxiously as the car draws closer, the tension in his body ratcheting up ten notches when he realizes it’s an unmarked cop car. What on Earth…?

 

Oliver’s breath catches as the driver’s door opens, lighting the interior of the vehicle enough that he can see a blonde head leaning against the window. A sigh of relief makes its way to the surface when he recognizes Lance making his way around to Felicity’s door, opening it and hefting the woman to her feet. The cop pauses to say something to her, Oliver can’t make out what, but she nods in response before starting toward the door.

 

Concerned, he closes the distance to the pair, scanning Felicity for injuries. She’s limping slightly and leaning heavily on Lance as he supports her up the front walk.

 

“Felicity? Are you okay?” He asks when he’s close enough for her to hear. She only winces as she tests out her foot.

 

Lance looks up, not quite concealing a grimace at the sight of him. “Queen. Why am I not surprised to see you here.”

 

“Is she okay?” He asks, ignoring the tone he’s giving him. Lance’s dislike of him is the last thing he’s worried about right now.

 

“It’s fine, Oliver. I’m fine,” she sighs, halting her steps and blowing fallen strands of hair out of her face. “I just… twisted my ankle a little.”

 

Lance scoffs. “A little? That guy pushed you pretty hard. It’s a wonder you didn’t break it.”

 

“What guy?” Oliver demands, stepping closer and reaching his hands toward her. They hover uncertainly in midair, not really having much purpose until Lance takes the cue and glances down at Felicity for confirmation. Receiving a nod, he reluctantly shifts her weight over to Oliver.

 

“Just some guy in the club,” she mutters, and he catches a hint of… something that doesn’t belong. “He was one of the stragglers trying to get out before the cops could arrest him and he pushed me out of the way. I stumbled, Dete-Captain Lance caught me, and everything worked out!”

 

When she turns her eyes up to him, pleading with him to just let it go, it clicks. He’s seen her eyes like this before, slightly unfocused and glassy.

 

“Felicity, have you been drinking?” He questions, eyebrows pulling together as he turns his attention to Lance. “Has she been drinking?”

 

Felicity sighs, exasperated, and her head tilts to the side, landing on his shoulder. He suspects she wasn’t aiming for it, but her head stays there, apparently too heavy to pick back up. Lance, for his part, appears sheepish for the first time since arriving.

 

“It was a long night, alright? And we had to get some ice for her ankle. We were in a bar…”

 

_Lance looks around the empty club, Felicity’s foot resting in his lap despite her protests. “You know, when I was younger, my partner and I used to cap off long nights like this one with a drink.”_

_Felicity’s head snaps up. “Are you saying you want to drink right now? Because I’m not sure-”_

_“Relax, Ms. Smoak,” he chuckles, allowing his eyes to wander around the room. “I haven’t had a drink since… It’s been a while. That isn’t gonna change because of one long night.”_

“So you just decided to give her shots?” Oliver snaps. His anxiety before they arrived may be causing him to overreact; he just can’t bring himself to care about that right now.

 

Lance shrugs, but there’s an edge of guilt to it. “I didn’t have any pain meds for her ankle, and she’s an adult. You ever try to stop her doin’ somethin’ she’s got her mind set on?”

 

Oliver’s jaw twitches, remembering his attempts to do just that earlier in the night. The man has a point. If Felicity wanted to drink… Well, nothing would have stopped her.

 

_She winces as Lance lays the ice on her ankle._

_“Sorry, kid. I’m tryin’ to be gentle.”_

_She shakes her head. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve been through worse.”_

_Lance cringes, clearly not liking her statement. “Yeah, well, if it’s all the same, I think I might have a solution for you.”_

_She raises an eyebrow in question and Quentin signals the bartender. The other man approaches, confusion etched on his face until Lance orders a shot._

_Felicity’s confusion, however, doesn’t recede. “I thought you said-”_

_Lance slides the glass over to her. “It may not be prescription grade, but it outta get the job done all the same.”_

_Felicity grins then, comprehension dawning. She turns to the bartender and orders another one before turning to see Quentin’s brows furrowed. “To cap off a long night, I’ll take one for you, too. Since you can’t for, you know, multiple obvious reasons.”_

_They get to talking, and she doesn’t just stop at the first round. When Quentin tries to protest, she shoots him a pointed look and tells him that it’s her life, her choice._

_“Besides,” she says, giggling a bit, “It would be rude of you to let me drink alone,” and proceeds to down two more shots._

 

A snort comes from Felicity before her eyes flick up to Oliver’s face and she rolls them. “Oh, put your frowny face away. I’m barely tipsy.”

 

Lance can hardly contain his glee at her reproach, trying to mask it by bringing a hand up to swipe over his mouth. He allows it to linger, stretching his jaw down and finally letting his arm drop back to his side when the smirk is gone. Normally, this would be enough to make Oliver even crankier, but he can’t find it in himself to summon the additional irritation as he gazes down at his blonde partner. She could be telling him he’s a first rate asshole and he’d still find it adorable if she phrased it like that.

 

Silence stretches between the three of them, awkward tension thickening by the second. Felicity shifts her weight, her shoulder bumping against Oliver and bringing her body closer to his. Automatically, he wraps his arm more securely around her waist to take more of her weight. The motion curls her further toward his chest and she settles against him willingly, letting out a little sigh of contentment that he’s not sure was intentional but makes his heart beat double-time nonetheless. A flash of warmth against the skin of his thumb alerts him to the steady rhythm it’s been stroking across her hip without his permission, and he gives himself a mental shake.

 

“Let’s get you inside,” he murmurs down to her, not caring as Lance narrows his eyes at the suddenly gentle tone.

 

Sighing in relief, she nods, her cheek rubbing against his chest with the motion. Oliver’s fingers involuntarily flex on her hip as he tries to control himself. He shouldn’t be doing this. Any of this. He needs to just get her inside, safely tucked in bed, and head home for the night. Remove the temptation of the way she seems to have forgotten all boundaries of personal space he’s drawn between them in the past year and a half.

 

“Thanks for the ride, Dete-Captain,” she says, although it’s more of a slur. While she doesn’t appear to be anything more than tipsy, it’s clear the alcohol is starting to make her sleepy.

 

Lance nods in her direction. “Thanks for having a couple drinks for me. And for deleting that high school picture off the internet.”

 

“Anytime,” she yawns, more into Oliver’s chest than actually in Lance’s direction. “But no whiskey next time. As much as you Lances seem to love it… I’m not a fan,” she finishes around another yawn.

 

“You take care of her, Queen,” Lance warns when he looks up from smiling softly at Felicity, all traces of humour gone.

 

Oliver nods once. “Always.”

 

He waits until the other man is on the way back to his car before starting the process of getting Felicity inside. By this time, she’s become nearly dead weight in his arms, and he wastes no time in sweeping her legs up to carry her.

 

_That_ gets her attention. “I thought I told you to warn me next time!”

 

He huffs out a laugh despite the painful recollection of the last time he carried her drunkenly into her house. After that incident, he’d been careful to keep his distance, but he was never very good at restraint, especially when it comes to Felicity.

 

When he gets her to the bedroom, he sets about checking out her ankle for himself. She and Lance may have been fine with just icing it, but he needs to make sure it isn’t more serious than a sprain. Felicity hisses when his fingers probe what he assumes is the tender spot, her foot jerking in his grip. He backs off the pressure immediately, zeroing in on the area to inspect it for anything out of the ordinary.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, fingers now ghosting over the skin. Satisfied, he looks up to where she’s propped against the headboard. “It’s just a sprain. Nothing serious.”

 

“I told you it wasn’t a big deal,” she replies, leveraging her body with her hands to adjust her position. As she does, her ankle twitches and he realizes he’s still cupping it in his lap. He takes a moment longer than he should to release it, swallowing thickly.

 

“I needed to be sure. You shouldn’t wear heels out in the field like that.”

 

“I was barely in the field.”

 

“And yet you still managed to get injured.”

 

Silence stretches between the pair, the good humour dissipating, until finally Oliver clears his throat, needing something to keep him occupied lest he blurt out something… inappropriate. Muttering something about getting her some water, he makes a quick escape to the kitchen. He isn’t sure which part of him wins out by the time he makes his way back: the part that hopes she’s asleep, or the part that desperately wants her to be awake. Despite the lies he told himself, just seeing her is enough to take away the empty ache in his chest. This is what he was missing tonight, even if it shouldn’t be.

 

He perches cautiously on the side of the bed, ensuring a healthy distance between them, and hands her the water along with two Advil he found in one of the cabinets. After she downs the tablets and half the glass, her eyes settle on him, searching for… something.

 

“Why are you here, Oliver?” She asks tiredly, her head falling back against the headboard.

 

He isn’t sure how to answer that, so he goes for the obvious. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

“You could have called,” she points out.                                                                                 

 

Shifting uncomfortably, his fingers resume the nervous tick that ceased when he saw her safe and sound in the car earlier. His gaze roams around the room, refusing to focus on one thing for long. A couple of false starts later and he gives up trying to justify his presence. There is no answer that he can in good conscience give her.

 

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her instead, his hand inadvertently landing on her calf and squeezing lightly.

 

Felicity heaves a sigh, her head lolling to the side in acceptance of his refusal to comment. “I’m not tired.”

 

Her words are contradicted by another yawn and his lips tug upward in a smile. “Sure you aren’t.”

 

“I’m not,” she insists, frowning in a way he wishes weren’t so cute. Her expression clears a second later, eyes lighting with an idea he’s sure he won’t like. “Let’s watch a movie!”

 

Yeah, he doesn’t like this idea at all. It’s one thing to make sure she’s fine and in bed; it’s another to stick around and feed his selfish desires. It’s not fair of him.

 

“Oh, stop overthinking it. I want to watch a movie and you’re already here,” she tells him, rolling her eyes once again and patting the bed next to her. “Besides, you told Lance you’d take care of me. C’mon. I promise I won’t bite.”

 

He can’t stop the genuine amusement from breaking through the surface. Lance was right; there’s no stopping Felicity when she’s on a mission.

 

Sighing, he gives in and slides onto the bed beside her. To compromise, he stays above the covers while she arranges them over her lap, ensuring a foot of space between them. Of course, she promptly ignores his precaution when her head drops onto his shoulder five minutes in to the movie. If he were a better man, he’d put a stop to the physical contact right then and there, but the warmth and weight of her feels… good.

 

“I lied before…” She mumbles, so quiet he barely catches the words. “When I said I hated you. I could never hate you.”

 

He knows exactly what she’s talking about, even if it’s been months since then. Unable to let the words hang in the air, he reaches over and squeezes her hand. “I know. I could never hate you either.”

 

When he moves to pull his hand away, her fingers tighten around his, trying to hold on. He lets her.

 

Somehow, over the course of the film, she ends up sprawled across his chest, snoring lightly. His arm is wrapped around her, cradling her body to his in a way he knows he shouldn’t, but it feels so natural that he can’t help but indulge. By the time the credits roll, he can feel his eyes growing heavy and has to force himself to wake back up.

 

With one last glance down at her peaceful features, Oliver shifts himself out of the bed as slowly as possible. He manages to do it without jostling her awake, and counts himself lucky. That is, until he makes to push himself fully off the mattress.

 

Her tiny fingers close around his with a force he didn’t know she possessed.

 

“Stay,” she slurs. He isn’t sure when she woke up, or if she’s even really aware of her actions, but he knows she’ll be the death of him. This woman is impossible to deny.

 

Letting out a breath, he lets his eyes close before he repositions himself on the bed next to her. He makes a point to remain on top of the covers in a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. He’ll just stay for a little while, he tells himself, eyes drooping, until she’s in a deeper sleep.

 

It shouldn’t surprise him that when he opens his eyes again, it’s light outside. Felicity is still breathing evenly beside him, her fingers still twined with his, but this time, she doesn’t prevent him from detangling them.

 

After making sure to leave the bottle of aspirin and a new glass of water on the bedside table in case she needs them when she wakes, he slips silently from her house. He doesn’t realize her eyes are already open, watching him sneak out like she knew he would.


	3. Roy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this took so long. The show killed me with all its angst… And I learned that I’m apparently incapable of writing happy things… This was actually SO hard for me to write, and I was SO excited about it. Honestly, I’m not sure I even like the finished product. I might have to do a second Roy chapter later on to make up for this… Hopefully the end makes up for the slightly strange parts at the start. I tried something a bit different from the last couple of chapters.
> 
> I would also just like to thank you guys for the comments and kudos! I'm a transfer from FF.net so I usually don't respond to reviews on this site because I'm more partial to their reply system.

They come stumbling down the stairs, the weight of their feet clattering against the metal louder than usual. They’re laughing, too, the kind of full belly laughter he doesn’t have the luxury of engaging in anymore. He’s glad she has Roy to indulge with, regardless of the sting their shared levity brings him. She deserves the happiness he can’t give her, even if it is currently shattering his concentration. 

 

That’s been happening a lot more lately, his focus shifting the instant he recognizes her voice, her laugh, her footsteps. Ever since the night he spent with her, even if it _was_ just sleeping, she’s been driving him closer and closer to the edge of distraction. Staying away isn’t enough to keep him focused anymore. Not like it used to be. She could be clear across the foundry and he still catches himself studying the way her attention is captivated by the monitors instead of focusing on the combination he’s practicing. The way her lips purse slightly as she thinks, the bottom one slipping between her teeth as an idea strikes her and her fingers fly across the keys…

 

Oliver drops the bow to his side in frustration, allowing the loaded string to slacken in his grip. There’s no use continuing target practice tonight. Apparently she doesn’t even have to be in his line of sight to render him useless.

 

Felicity isn’t out of his line of sight for long, though, as she jumps the last couple of stairs to land on her bare feet at the bottom with a broad grin. She wavers slightly, and for a second his stomach lurches at the thought she might fall. She manages to balance before she tips too far to the side and, not noticing Oliver, whirls back to Roy, arms outstretched triumphantly above her head.

 

“Ha! I win!” She exclaims proudly, eyes glowing.

 

When Roy comes in to view, her heels are dangling from the fingers of his left hand and he looks put out. “That’s cheating.”

 

Felicity thrusts her finger wildly in the direction of Roy’s chest, trying and failing to connect with the muscle. “We did not decide on rules.”

 

“We were racing down the stairs!” Roy counters, throwing his hands up at his sides, his face twisting in confusion. “I didn’t think it needed to be said that jumping down half of them is cheating.”

 

“Please,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, her head falling rather heavily to the side with the motion. “You’re just mad you lost, Harper.”

 

Whatever Roy plans to retort with is lost as they both turn from their positions facing each other at the bottom of the stairs to notice Oliver for the first time.

 

“Oliver!” Felicity exclaims, eyes widening. Does she look… guilty?

 

“Hey Oliver...” Roy rubs the back of his neck a little awkwardly.

 

For his part, Oliver is thoroughly puzzled. Why are they acting so strange? It’s not like his presence down here is unexpected. He’s in this basement most nights, trying to work off the excess adrenaline that seems to come with being in such close proximity to the blonde in front of him for more than three quarters of his day.

 

He isn’t sure what changed or when. If he had to pin it down, he’d say it started on the anniversary of Sara’s death, when he found Felicity down here with Laurel. That night set him on a collision course with the feelings he spent a year compartmentalizing. They’ve somehow gotten free and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t shove them back in their box.

 

During his musings, Felicity’s attention has wandered away from her initial shock at seeing him and landed on her computers. Her eyes light up, a mischievous grin stretching across her face and she bounds over to the computers, her movements drawing a frown from Oliver. She seems… off.

 

“Wait… You keep it on the computer _down here_?” Roy asks, disbelieving.

 

His attention successfully diverted from Oliver, the young man trails after Felicity as she hums in the affirmative. Oliver can’t do anything but frown after the pair, watching as Roy braces his hands on Felicity’s chair and leans in closer than necessary. At least, Oliver thinks it is.

 

“Well, I told Lance I deleted it, but…” She turns to Roy conspiratorially, whispering, “I kept a copy.”

 

Roy smirks. “Of course you did.”

 

“Wait,” Oliver interrupts. “You kept a copy of Lance’s high school picture?”

 

Felicity clicks a few keys to pull the photo up before spinning the chair to look over at him. He watches in amusement as she seems to realize for the first time that they’ve interrupted training. Her eyes track down his bare chest, lingering on his abs before finding their way back to his face. “Maybe…”

 

He releases a small chuckle, knowing it isn’t enough when Roy is offering her uninhibited laughter, but the smile dies just as quickly when he recognizes her lack of focus for what it is. It makes sense now, the clambering down the stairs and the over exuberance. The second his eyes narrow, her cheeks tint pink, already knowing what he’s going to ask. “Are you guys drunk?”

 

Roy freezes where he’s been guffawing at the picture of Captain Lance on the computer screen, and that’s really all the confirmation Oliver needs. He crosses his arms as his protégé turns to face him, guilt written all over the young man’s features.

 

“Roy’s not! I am… a little… But Roy is sober as a cucumber,” Felicity jumps valiantly to his defence. Once her words register, though, she frowns. “Is that a thing? Because I feel like it isn’t…”

 

Roy tries to maintain his composure, but when Felicity turns her confused gaze to him, he breaks. “No, no it is not.”

 

Felicity considers his words for a moment before shrugging and turning back to Oliver. “So, yes, I’m drunk, but don’t you go getting all judgy and ruining Roy’s buzz.”

 

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “ _Roy’s_ buzz?”

 

Felicity nods in affirmation once, leaning back in the chair and turning it side to side. “He looked all sad and lonely sitting at the bar, so I cheered him up!”

 

_“Why so glum, chum?” Felicity wonders, plopping on a Verdant bar stool beside Roy._

_The younger man merely flicks his eyes in her direction before returning them to their previous location. “I’m not.”_

_Undeterred, Felicity props her chin on her hand and follows Roy’s line of sight. “Sure you aren’t. Because watching Thea flirt with Mr. Abs-A-Lot over there must really brighten your day.”_

_It earns her a turn of his head to fully face her, frown etched in place._

_“You know, if you keep that up, your face will get stuck,” she points out innocently, pursing her lips. “At least, that’s what my mom always told me.”_

_Roy rolls his eyes. “I’m not in the mood, Felicity.”_

_“Well then, let’s get you in the mood, Harper!” She chirps, motioning to the bartender for two shots._

_Another roll of the eyes. “I can’t drink, remember? Not good for the residual rage… And I’m working, unlike some people around here…”_

_Felicity’s lips stretch into a grin at his muttered comment. “Then I guess I have my work cut out for me. You’re in for a treat, Harper. I’m a fun drunk.”_

_She punctuates the statement with a wink and her grin morphs into a full-fledged smile as Roy finally turns his attention away from Thea and her newest male friend._

“So really, I got drunk to prevent him from ogling-”

 

Roy cuts Felicity off with an indignant, “I wasn’t _ogling_ her!”

 

Felicity glares momentarily at him before returning her attention to Oliver. “Fine. _Staring longingly_ at your sister. You’re welcome.”

 

Oliver blinks, not knowing what to say to that.

 

Roy, apparently, does. “I was _not_ staring longingly at her.”

 

“You kind of were…” Felicity argues, wrinkling her nose. “It was kind of pathetic, and a little creepy. You should be thanking me, too, really, for stopping the addition of ‘stalker’ to your dating profile.”

 

Roy opens his mouth to retort, but something in her last sentence catches Felicity’s wavering attention and she latches on. Her sudden movement to sit upright, pointing a finger at Roy as she gasps, startles both men.

 

“Wait! That’s it! That’s exactly what you need! An online dating profile!”

 

She looks so pleased with herself that she fails to notice both men looking at her as though she’s grown a second head. Either that, or she just doesn’t care. Her fingers tap happily away, far too fast for her inebriated state.

 

“Ok, let’s see. What should we put in here… Age? Easy. Height?” She pauses to appraise him. “Slightly on the vertically challenged side.” She ignores Roy’s protest. “Hair and eye color? Easy. Interests and biography? Ohhhh now we get to fun part. Name some hobbies and interests, Roy.”

 

The younger man merely sets his jaw, crosses his arms, and leans back against the desk. For his part, Oliver is finding this far more amusing than any other avenue of conversation so far, if only because Roy looks positively uncomfortable.

 

“No? Alright, suit yourself. I’ll make some up,” Felicity shrugs. “Let’s see… works at a local nightclub, but enjoys spending free time defining his abs, of which there are _plenty_.”

 

Suddenly this isn’t so amusing.

 

The blonde hums, tapping her lips with one red-painted nail. “When not working out, Roy Harper can be found practicing his broody face in the mirror. If you’re looking for your above average dose of angst, this man is for you.”

 

“Hey now,” Roy cuts her off, but Oliver can see a smile threatening to break through the surface. “I am _not_ that bad, Blondie.”

 

“Oh, but you are. You rank a solid 9 on the angst-o-meter.”

 

The kid huffs a laugh. “Angst-o-meter?”

 

“Yes. It is a scientific scale created by yours truly to rank a person’s angst levels,” Felicity explains, giggling around her explanation. Before Roy can further comment, she pulls up a screen that looks like a cartoon thermometer, the words ‘Angst-O-Meter’ flashing across the top and bottom.

 

As she explains the process of putting in a name and the program returning their rating, Oliver starts to tune out. They’ve dissolved into laughter again, Felicity drawing Roy back into their happy little bubble, one Oliver can’t exist in for this long. At this point, he may as well hit the shower to avoid enduring the sight of his two partners. He’s happy that she’s found a friend in Roy, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys _watching_ it. As ashamed as he is to admit it, he’s jealous. _He_ wants to be the one making her laugh. He wants to stand in her light, bask in her warmth. But he can’t. Roy can.

 

He takes a longer shower than usual, trying to delay the inevitable, hoping they’ve gone home. Instead, the sight that greets him when he finally emerges is the last thing he expects, and definitely the last thing he _wants_ to see.

 

Felicity is standing in front of the targets, Roy’s bow in her hands. The string is drawn back, practice arrow nocked. And Roy? The kid is standing behind her, his chest pressed to her back, his arms guiding hers. With irritation, Oliver notices it isn’t even the _proper_ position. Add that to the way Roy’s wrapped around her, so… intimate, with his mouth right next to her ear, and Oliver can feel the fire lighting in his gut at the situation. When the kid gives her instructions, Felicity giggles, admonishing him for letting his breath tickle her ear.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?" Oliver snaps, unable to control the anger building inside him any longer.

 

Startled, Roy jumps back from Felicity, putting three feet between them. Felicity whirls toward the sound of Oliver’s voice, forgetting the bow in her hand. Without Roy’s support, the bowstring releases the arrow, firing it in Oliver’s direction. Both of his partners gasp, Roy wincing in anticipation, but the arrow thankfully flies wide. Felicity’s eyes are twice their normal size, the bow clattering to the cement floor when she brings her hand up to clasp over her mouth. The shattering sound behind him draws his attention, and Oliver turns to see dirt and pieces of a ceramic pot littering the floor. The fern Felicity purchased for him over a year and a half ago is hanging precariously off the table, leaves drooping.

 

“Oh my God,” Felicity breathes. “Ambrosia!”

 

Oliver and Roy exchange confused glances as Felicity rushes forward, completely ignoring Oliver and bending to examine the now homeless fern. Understanding dawns as her fingers smooth over the leaves to check for damage, and Oliver hears Roy snort.

 

“You named it?” The younger man scoffs, hiding laughter behind his hand.

 

Felicity glares over at him. “No judging. I bet you’ve named that hoodie you never take off.”

 

Oliver would give in to his amusement, if circumstances were different. But the fact is that none of this would be happening if he hadn’t just walked in on Roy teaching an impaired Felicity how to shoot a bow. His mind is racing with all the possibilities for disaster in such a situation. Felicity could have been seriously hurt.

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” He spits out, advancing on his protégé. Roy gulps.

 

Felicity turns from examining the fern. “Oliver, it’s not his fault! It was my idea.”

 

He ignores her protests, getting right up in Roy’s space and feeling marginally better when the young man visibly shrinks. “At least she has an excuse for this idiocy. What’s yours?”

 

“Hey, look, I- I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. They’re just practice arrows, and it’s not like she’s going to shoot herself in the foot if I’m the one doing most of the work.” Roy’s words come out in a rush, indicating fear, but there’s confusion lingering behind it.

 

“There is _no way_ for you to know that,” Oliver snaps through gritted teeth. “Something could have gone wrong. Something can _always_ go wrong. What would you have done if she’d gotten hurt?”

 

“Ok, that’s enough,” Felicity cuts in, saving Roy from his soundless stammering. He looks relieved when Felicity places a hand on Oliver’s chest, slowly easing him back so she can step between the two men. “Go home, Roy,” she tells the kid, never taking her eyes or hand away from Oliver.

 

At Roy’s protest, she repeats the order with more force and he complies, murmuring some soft expression of gratitude to her as he goes. She waits until the door shuts behind him to drop her hand and cross her arms. “What is wrong with you? It was just some harmless fun.”

 

Oliver blinks, not quite believing his ears. “Just some harmless-” He cuts himself off, tugs a hand through his hair while his eyes find the ceiling. “You have got to be kidding me, Felicity. What you were doing was reckless. It was irresponsible, it was dangerous, and it could have ended up a _lot_ worse than a broken pot.”

 

“Oh, come on, Oliver,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “He needed some cheering up, and I don’t see you or Digg getting in line to do it. We can’t all be broody 24/7. Besides, you know Roy’s right. He was completely sober. Nothing was going to happen.”

 

Oliver opens his mouth to argue, anger swelling in his chest at her flippant dismissal of the issue. It’s a common problem with Felicity, her failure to acknowledge the true extent of the danger she puts herself in. She will never downplay the risks of the missions they go on, but her role in them? It’s like, if she says the words, she thinks he won’t worry. Of course, he does nothing _but_ worry. If anything happened to her…

 

Before he can formulate his argument, Felicity’s raised hand cuts him off. “No, not tonight, Oliver. I’m too tired and still a little spinny. I can’t focus on having this conversation right now. Let’s just leave it at Roy taught me archery and that goes on the list of things not to happen in the Arrow Cave.”

 

He debates the wisdom of pressing the matter, but ultimately decides to save it for another, more sober, night. Instead, he makes the conscious choice to lighten the atmosphere with a moody, “Whatever he was teaching you, it was _not_ archery.”

 

Her lips twitch and he can feel his irritation with her lifting. “Really? Because it felt like it to me.”

 

 _That_ brings a scowl to his face as an image of what she likely _felt_ assaults his brain. “His form was all wrong.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

 

“Your feet weren’t wide enough and your elbow was drooping on your draw. If you want to learn, ask someone who knows what they’re doing.”

 

“So not Roy, then?”

 

“No,” he bites out, dipping to retrieve the fallen bow.

 

Only when he’s securing it back in the case does he realize the implications of his statement. Oliver grits his teeth, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation with himself. When he braves turning back around to face Felicity, there’s a look of comprehension on her face.

 

“Wait. Is that what this whole thing was really about?” Her eyes are gleaming, as though she’s thrilled to have gotten to the heart of the matter, but not yet realized what it means. “You’re… _jealous_ that I asked Roy to show me?”

 

Oliver says nothing, looking at anything but her as he tries to dig his way out of this hole. “That’s not what I said.”

 

“No, but it’s what you meant, isn’t it?” She pushes, advancing on him. “Admit it, Oliver.”

 

“Felicity-” He warns, clenching his jaw.

 

She continues as though he hasn’t spoken. “You couldn’t stand the sight of him pressed up against me, arms wrapped around mine…”

 

“Felicity, don’t-”

 

“Whispering instructions in my ear,” she breathes, and Oliver realizes just how _close_ she is. When did she get this close? It’s reminiscent of his invasion of Roy’s space just minutes earlier. The only difference is that she isn’t doing it to intimidate him. It’s quite the opposite goal, if he’s not mistaken.

 

A very different image fills his mind, of him being the one to stand behind her, guiding her arms into place. Her feet aren’t wide enough, so he nudges them apart with his foot between hers. The small ‘oh’ of surprise she lets out at the sudden action reverberates into her back, allowing him to feel the weight of her surprise. Her back muscles tense as she prepares her release, tightening against his chest as per the instructions murmured lowly in her ear, with his lips just brushing her industrial piercing. The scent of her citrus shampoo invades his nostrils and he inhales deeply despite his better judgment.

 

As though on cue, the underlying notes of alcohol filter through her previously fruity scent and the haze clears. When her hand comes up, presumably to splay on his chest, he snaps out of it and snatches her wrist. Her eyes widen in surprise at the quick reflex, but the reaction is delayed and it reminds him of her state. She may have sobered up a bit, but she’s still intoxicated. She isn’t thinking clearly right now, which means this isn’t the right time to be talking about this. It certainly isn’t the time to be giving in to these damned desires.

 

He clears his throat to break the silence. “I think it’s time to get you home.”

 

Felicity blinks up at him, clearly surprised at the sudden turn. A second later, when he steps back to grab her coat, hurt flashes in her eyes. Oliver tries not to let it get to him as he holds the garment out for her to thread her arms through, tenderly pulling her hair free once it’s settled on her shoulders.

 

“Felicity-” He starts, realizing he may have done more harm than he meant.

 

“Let’s just go,” she snaps, and he exhales loudly. Yes, he’s definitely screwed this up. This is why the feelings stay in a damn box.

 

The tension between them only grows on their departure from the foundry. The club is still packed, and Felicity freezes when she gets past the door. Thinking she’s just waiting for him, he nudges her shoulder with his, but then her eyes drop to her feet and he understands.

 

“Roy hid my shoes earlier…”

 

Yet another point against his trainee tonight. Taking a deep breath, Oliver sweeps Felicity up into his arms without asking. He’s sure if he did, she would fight him on it, and he really isn’t up for any more arguments tonight. He’s still trying to regain control from the last one.

 

It’s been awhile since she’s been able to get that far under his skin, and he’s having a hard time shaking her, especially with their current position. After her initial disgruntlement, she seems to have surrendered, allowing her head to fall to his shoulder as she relaxes. It doesn’t help his attempts to re-establish the distance her little archery lesson demolished, but he revels in the sensation of her pressed against him.

 

By the time he gets her into her bed, he’s certain she’s fallen asleep and gives himself a moment to just watch her. He shouldn’t. He should turn back around and head back the way he came. He can’t get roped into another request to watch a movie or stay over if she wakes up. He can’t risk it. Yet he’s rooted to the spot beside her bed, unable to stop himself from reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead.

 

Felicity sighs in her slumber, turning her face toward his hand, and Oliver nearly loses all semblance of control. No. He has to get out of here. Now. Tonight has been… strange, to say the least. Something about the image of her so close to another man, even if it was only Roy, sparked the jealousy he’s so far kept a tight lid on. He can convince himself he’s fine with her moving on and finding other men all he wants, but actually _seeing_ it… It was hard with Ray, but he managed. She was always careful to ensure they kept their distance during the brief times they were around Oliver, so he’s never had to confront the reality of her being physically close to another man. Tonight, though… It was too easy to imagine Roy was someone else, someone she could find herself in intimate positions with. Perhaps it has something to do with her confession on the anniversary of Sara’s death. She all but admitted she _can’t_ move on, that no one compares to him for her, just like he knows she’s it for him. There’s something about _knowing_ it that just sets him on edge around her and he doesn’t think there’s any going back.

 

Gritting his teeth, Oliver finally withdraws his hand. He needs to get a grip.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, he slips down into the foundry after a quick chat with Thea to find the exact same sight that set him off before. Roy is standing behind Felicity, guiding her stance with his hands on her hips.

 

Oliver wastes no time clearing his throat, not interested in a repeat. “I thought this was filed under things not allowed in the Arrow Cave?”

 

Roy hastily steps back from Felicity, tucking his hands behind his back. “We’re both sober.”

 

To her credit, Felicity doesn’t send the practice arrow flying off in the direction of the new pot she’d bought for the fern. Instead, she lowers the bow and turns calmly to face him, a challenge in her eye. “I thought we didn’t call it the Arrow Cave.”

 

He curls the fingers of one hand into a fist while anxiously starting to rub the fingers of the other together.

 

“Something to say?” Felicity’s eyes glint, daring him to agree.

 

Oliver clenches his jaw. “No.”

 

Roy glances between the pair a few times before mumbling something about going to check on everything upstairs and hightailing it out of the basement. Felicity heads for her water bottle, letting the tension stretch until it snaps.

 

“What is your problem with this?” She demands, slamming the bottle on the table and whirling to face him. “And don’t say you don’t have one because it’s written _all_ over your face.”

 

He cringes, looking anywhere but at her.

 

“So _now_ you have nothing to say?” Felicity snaps, eyebrows drawn together. “You can’t tell me this is just about the ‘danger’ I’m in. We were both completely aware and not intoxicated at all.”

 

“It’s not just about that,” Oliver admits. Now that he’s let that slip, he casts around for an acceptable follow-up. “I thought we established Roy wasn’t a good teacher.”

 

Felicity huffs out a laugh, heading for her computers. “ _You_ established. I listened. And for the record, I would have asked you if I thought you’d say yes.”

 

The next words past his lips are utterly unfiltered. “I don’t think I’m capable of saying no to you.”

 

Felicity freezes, bent over her computers. “Except when you are.”

 

The words are matter-of-fact, with just a hint of resignation and a pinch of bitter thrown in. They hit him harder than he expects. She’s referring to his refusal to be with her; he knows she is. She thinks this is easy for him, to refuse to be with her and yet have her around all the time. She thinks this is a choice he made akin to which shirt he puts on in the morning.

 

Sighing, he pulls his fingers through his hair. “It’s more complicated than that.”

 

“It always is,” she sighs, turning on her heel to lean on the desk.

 

She doesn’t look at him, or even in his general direction, and Oliver takes it to mean the conversation is over. They never quite get around to any sort of resolution.

 

“Just out of curiosity,” her voice echoes after his retreating form. He stops, turning back to her. She looks almost… hopeful. “If I did ask, would you? Teach me, I mean.”

 

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. Although he’s fundamentally opposed to giving her the tools to help her put herself in further danger, he likes the idea of anyone else teaching her even less. Besides, something inside him swells at the idea that she _wants_ his help.

 

“Then teach me.”

 

Oliver blinks. “Right now?”

 

“I don’t see why not. Better start soon if you want to combat Roy’s bad influence.”

 

Damn this woman.

 

That’s how he finds himself standing far too closely behind Felicity, hands guiding her into position, trying to control his erratic heartbeat. It’s too much like his fantasy and he’s wishing he refused her. The scent of her shampoo assaults him, untainted by alcohol this time. He gulps, trying to regain control.

 

At that moment, Felicity turns her head, presumably to ask a question. It brings their faces far too close, noses almost brushing, breath mingling as they stare heatedly. He’s sure his eyes are just as dark as hers. She’s too close and he doesn’t think he can step away, even though he should.

 

“Oliver?” She breathes. “Kiss me.”

 

He doesn’t even debate the wisdom of doing as she asks before closing the small gap between them and claiming her lips with his. It’s everything he remembers from their first kiss, and everything he’s wanted for their second. What starts off as chaste, a simple press of his lips to hers, turns heated in mere seconds as she spins in his arms, snaking her hand into his hair. Suddenly, it’s deep and thorough, nearly desperate in their haste to explore every inch of each other. His arms band around her waist, tugging soft curves against hard planes and tilting his head to get a better angle. Her free arm runs up the length of his bicep before descending to his chest, nails scratching lightly through the material of his shirt. A growl tears from his throat unbidden, but Felicity swallows it.

 

By the time they part, they’re breathing even more heavily than before, each heave bringing their chests into contact.

 

“I told you I couldn’t refuse you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, kind of a weird place to leave it, but it is what it is. I didn’t want them to kiss when she was drunk, which is why I included that sober section at the end. Thoughts? Next chapter will go a bit into what the fallout was, featuring Lyla! (and a bit of Diggle possibly)

**Author's Note:**

> So far I plan to write at least Lance, Roy, and Diggle before getting to the final chapter. I’m toying with Thea and Lyla, possibly tying Lyla and Diggle’s together. The plan would be for all of them to have at least an Olicity-leaning ending, if not a full-on actual Olicity ending. But what do you guys think? Worth continuing? What types of situations would you want to see her drinking for the other characters in?


End file.
